


Not Broken

by meredithleon



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredithleon/pseuds/meredithleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has been missing, Sylar finds him in an unsettling situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Broken

Sylar had tried not to think of what he would find when he had finally located the place where Peter was being held. He had kept his hopes low, his heart locked away. A good decision on his part, he thought as he bested another of the despicable men. He had lost count how many.

Peter was curled up in a corner of the massive room, a small, pale figure in the vast bareness save for a thread bare carpet and an old couch and a chair. The fire crackling cheerily from a hearth wasn’t doing anything to ward off the chill from the atmosphere, or the gloom of the room with boarded windows and a single door.

Sylar swore as the monster grabbed his neck from the back pulling him away from Peter’s huddled form when he took a step. He struggled against the man’s grip, trying to fend him off. A movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. Hand pressed against his adversary’s throat as they thrashed on the stained carpet spread across the floor, Sylar chanced a glance. 

Peter was standing up, a few feet from them, naked except for the blood that covered his body. An iron tool, probably from the fireplace was held loosely in his hand. 

But it was not the stark nudity or the blood coating his legs that unsettled Sylar. It was the look in Peter’s eyes that scared him. 

Rage, pure and absolute, feral fire that burned behind those once innocent eyes. Eyes that had displayed love and affection, that could melt the coldest hearts, were blazing with hatred, an inhuman quality to them.

With each unsteady step forward, Peter’s grip on the tool tightened.

Both Sylar and the other man stopped in their scuffle, paralyzed in their shock and apprehension.

Peter stopped in-front of them, for a while, just watched, eyes locked on the stunned face of the man currently pinning Sylar to the ground, hands around his neck. Peter’s lips twitched, breath heavy. He let out an animalistic roar; thin arms raised the tool and in one powerful sweep, hit the man in the head, making him topple off. Peter didn’t curse, didn’t cry either. Just screamed, painful and unforgiving, frightening at the same time, as the fire iron met its target again and again.

The bone of the skull caved and cracked, blood and brain matter splattered across the carpet and the furniture, seeping into the fabric, but the blows didn’t stop. 

The violence was a sign of how much Peter had suffered, how much he hurt, how ruined. Sylar couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped behind Peter and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back towards the old, worn out couch.

The tool was dropped and the screams stopped. The silence that followed would have been a relief if not for the frantic heart beating in his chest and the gore that surrounded them. 

Sylar held Peter close, his head resting on Sylar’s broad shoulders, warm breath tickling the skin of his neck. Peter needed attention, but he wanted to make sure it would be Peter, his Peter, he would get back, not an empty, twisted version of him. 

It was a futile hope, if the scene moments ago was an indication, but hope still.

Minutes ticked by and Sylar waited, hands tightening around a narrow waist at the slightest movement. A shudder went through the lithe form in his arms, strong fingers clutched at his jacket tightly.

He dared to hope, carefully shifting to look at the young man who had taught him to be a hero. 

Large brown eyes, filled with tears and entirely human, stared back at him. They blinked and a single tear escaped the lids, thin lips quivered and pure agony marred the flawless face. Sylar pulled him even closer, sheltering his broken love in the sanctuary of his arms. Not minding in the least, when tears and drool wet his shirt, and damp trails sneaked down his own cheeks.


End file.
